


The Purest Souls

by ObviouslyAnonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Demons kidnap you, F/M, God that sounds horrible, I've never written Satan before, Lucifer's Cage, Michael is worse than Lucifer when in the cage, Minnesota is my home state tbh, Nice Lucifer, Nicholas Cage was not harmed in the making of this fic, Reader-Insert, Seriously he's horrible, Virgin Lucifer, Your father is a dick, minneapolis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObviouslyAnonymous/pseuds/ObviouslyAnonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of black eyed things break in, kidnap you, and sacrifice you to Satan. Because your day really couldn't get any worse. Also, as it turns out, Lucifer isn't the one you should be afraid of in the Cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You're The Main Course

**Author's Note:**

> This probably sucks. I've never written a Lucifer fic before, thought it might be worth a try considering there aren't many on AO3.

As a Catholic, you had always heard about the existence of demons. However, like most Catholics, you had never really believed in their actual existence. You began to reconsider your thoughts when four men with black eyes stormed into women’s shelter in the basement of the church. You had seen dark irises before, but this was different. Their entire eyes, whites and all, had turned inky black. An abyss of dark, endless evil. 

At first you had thought it might be a group of your fathers friends who had tracked you down and were there to drag you back, but when their eyes filled with darkness you knew there was something much more dangerous going on, and that your father was the absolute last thing you needed to worry about. Screaming, you began to scramble. Handmade blankets from the nuns flew in the air from the force of your kicks, and you vaulted over the empty shelter beds in your race to the door. 

The things roared and furiously tried to unwind the blankets from around them and chase after you, but adrenaline fueled your muscles which were far too accustomed to outrunning grown men. The cold sweat of your palm enclosed on the door handle and thrust it open, and the frigid temperatures of Minneapolis in October clashed against the heat your skin. Then, an unrelenting grip latched itself onto your upper arm, and another hand pressed the smooth metal of a blade against your neck.

“Come on now, sweetie. Be a good girl. I really don’t want to have to use this on you.” The man rasped in your ear, his voice hollow and insincere. The tone was all too familiar to you, it was the tone of a monster, a stone cold killer. A person that didn’t feel any regret.

Instantly, your movements stopped. The metal door of the church basement flung open and the four things exited, looking anything but pleased. 

“Good. You got her. It was a pain just to find this one, there wouldn’t be time to start from scratch.” One of them grunted, a blond, giving you a quick appraisal as if he was examining meat at the grocery store. 

Luckily, you weren’t dressed in anything too revealing, the nuns having loaned you an old white sleeping gown with a high collar and lace embellishments. It was sort of see-through, but you had kept your panties and a tank top on underneath. Basements in Minneapolis, especially during the winter, weren’t exactly filled with an over abundance of heat. This winter especially, with the cold season coming earlier than usual.

The one holding you and pressing the knife to your neck withdrew it and began walking you forward, both hands now restraining you. He had dark hair and a five o’clock shadow which normally could have been attractive. As soon as the metal left your neck you screamed, as loud as you possibly could, but the knife was right back against your throat again, cutting a little just above your collarbone.

“I said be good, bitch. Don’t give me an excuse to cut you open.”

Dread began to really churn your stomach as moments passed. No one was coming for you. Deciding to keep your mouth shut and do as they tell you, you let the thing restraining you lead you forward. Your bare feet sank into the snow as you walked, quickly going numb.

You stopped in front of a large black SUV with no license plate or manufacturer symbol. One of them opened the trunk and the thing restraining you pushed you inside, quickly tying your hands and feet together with zip-ties. As a last ditch effort, you looked up at your kidnappers, big eyes pleading and brimming with tears. They just sneered, and the one that had tied you up ran a finger along the cut and licked the blood off and closed the trunk.

The second you were able to think rationally, you began to try and figure out where the car was, and where it was going. Tracking turns and rates of speed was significantly more difficult than they made it out to be in those movies about kidnapping. The best you could figure was that you were in the northern part of the city, maybe on I-94. Feeling around the trunk, you came up unsurprisingly empty of anything useful for escape. You were stuck.

As you sat in silence in the trunk of the SUV, you didn’t feel the slightest urge to pray. Something told you it wouldn’t do any good.

It took about ten minutes to reach the destination. All the doors closed before they opened the trunk, a dark skinned man with a buzz cut slung you over his shoulder effortlessly. It would have been a confidence boost had you not suspected they were something other than human. You were inside an abandoned auto body shop which looked a bit familiar. Perhaps you had hid out in here one night while hiding from your father.

You didn’t bother to kick or scream or fight when they tied you to a chair in the center of some weird circle with satanic looking shit drawn on the outside. What you were feeling, or rather the lack of feeling you were experiencing, wasn’t normal. You knew that much, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything. 

Were you afraid? Hell yes. But you had been in life threatening situations before. Kicking, screaming, fighting back and all that, it was useless when around men like this. Because that’s what they wanted you to do. They ached for you to fight back. So you hid everything away and showed no reaction at all. If they were going to kill you, you’d at least make damn sure they got the least satisfaction doing it as possible.

“Did you break it?” One asked, nodding his head towards the completely reaction-less female human tied to the chair.

The dark haired one with the beard coming in shrugged. “She screamed earlier. Didn’t you, sugar plum?”

You leveled him with a no-nonsense glare that had made most men squirm. 

The blond one chuckled, but it was devoid of all humor or emotion. Just a noise to fill the air. “Yes, Lucifer will love what we have found him. He will reward us greatly when he returns to the throne.” 

He walked towards you with a blade in his knife and cut small lines down your arms and legs, just shallow enough to bleed. You winced and squirmed and yelled at him as he did so, deciding maybe it wasn’t so bad to show emotion and give this bastard the tongue lashing he deserved. 

Fuck, it stung. 

Then four of them stepped forward and began drawing on you with your own blood, some even drawing crazy ass sigils on the floors and walls. Great. You loved being the sacrificial virgin in some cult ritual. What a thing to cross of the bucket list.

“Don’t you usually take a girl out to dinner before using her in a ritualistic sacrifice to Satan?” You muttered sarcastically, still not letting the hysteria or feeling of impending doom show on your face. Then they would win.

“Oh, honey.” The dark haired one, drawing sigils on your neck and face, tilted his head and gave you a knowing smile. “You’re the main course.”

A few objects were placed inside the circle you were in, all the things stepped out, licking the blood of their fingers, your blood, and began chanting.

Then the floor collapsed open and you started to fall.

 

***********

Everything burned away as you fell. The chair, the zip ties, your clothing, all of it. It combusted into flames that licked at your skin, but didn’t hurt, and fell away. Then you hit the ground, hard. Pain hit you then, white hot and burning.

Screaming, louder than you ever have before, you wished that unconsciousness would come. It didn’t. You writhed in agony, the writhing leading to only more torture. Knowing that wherever you were now wasn’t safe, you managed to crawl with your elbows into the darkest shadows of this place. Eventually you curled up into a ball and let all the tears you had fought so hard against to roll down your cheeks.

There was something touching you. Your eyes shot open and despite all the pain you were feeling, you lashed out and kicked and screamed the best you were able with your mangled limbs and torn up skin.

“Get away!” You yelled, not meaning to sound as broken as you did. “Stop!”

Whoever it was held a hand over your mouth. “Shh, calm down. It’s okay. You’re safe.” The smooth baritone voice was soft and calming, not at all like the hollow maliciousness that had brought you here. Safe, he had said. Safe.

You clutched onto the sound in your mind and latched onto the man, pressing yourself close to him and sobbing. “Please, please just make it go away. It hurts. Please, everything hurts.” 

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ll make it stop. One hand held you close to him and the other touched your forehead gently, making you fall limp and unconscious in his arms.

The dirty blonde haired man gingerly set you on the bed, his bed, as if anything could break you. He was not too far off in this regard. Every bone in your body had broken in the fall. It was only with the rules of the cage that you were still alive. He softly ran his hands over your body, using his powers to heal your blood caked form. As soon as he touched your blood, it became instantly clear to him why you were here, in the cage that had imprisoned him for millennia. 

Once, every few ten thousand years a handful of humans were born, special humans. Given the purest souls of all creation, but destined for a terrible fate if discovered. Obviously, by the smudged sigils that marked your skin, painted with your own blood, you had been discovered. And sacrificed to him by a group of demons. 

Sacrificed to Lucifer.


	2. He Prefers Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wake up, Lucifer makes you an omelette, and you really can't stop staring at his wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Significantly shorter than the first chapter, sorry.

Defying all common stereotypes, you knew that what had transpired last night had actually happened once you woke up. You were pissed as hell, no pun intended, but you knew that even your twisted imagination wouldn’t have come up with demons and ritualistic sacrifices. The lavish room and the man sitting on the end of the bed further convinced you that this was, in fact, reality. Unfortunately.

You sat up tentatively in the bed, expecting pain but feeling none, and eyed the blue eyed man suspiciously. Usually, unknown men that put girls in strange beds and then watched them while sleeping were not of trustworthy character. You eyed the large, brilliant white wings protruding from his back in somewhat restrained awe. They were large, furled behind is back with stiff control. Not wanting to seem rude, you kept your gaze focused on his.

“Who are you?” You asked, rubbing your temples and attempting to blink away the oncoming headache you could feel at the bottom of your skull. “And what the fuck happened last night?”

His jaw clicked when you swore, but you paid it no attention. “I suspect you already know the answer to that question. You shouldn’t swear, it’s unbecoming of you.”

“I never thought that Satan would be telling me not to swear.”

“I really prefer the name Lucifer.” He cringed. “The name Satan has such.. bad connotations.”

You cleared your throat and began to stand before you shrieked and pulled the sheets up to cover your chest. “Shit! Shit I forgot I was naked. Dammit. Um… Do you have like any..”

He dragged his gaze away from you, waved his hand and nodded, walking over to a large dresser and pulling out a long dark green button down shirt and boxers. His wings fluttered around in an effortless dance, glimmering feathers somehow avoiding collision with all objects in the room. “Here.” He said, tossing them to you and pointing towards a door next to the nightstand. “The bathroom is through there.”

You caught the clothes he threw you with one hand and gathering the sheet around you with the other. Awkwardly, you thanked him and shuffled to the bathroom, giving him a grateful smile and shutting the door. The bathroom was just as posh as the bedroom, luxurious but simple. Just like the bedroom, the color scheme was mostly dark grey, with hints of lighter tones and an occasional splash of white. 

You turned on the glass shower and used his mint shampoo, soap, and body wash. The water turned pink as you scrubbed all the blood from your body. It made you feel sick to your stomach, despite not being an entirely unfamiliar sight to you. After spending several minutes basking in the hot water and the crisp aroma of mint and steam wafting through the room, you turned off the water and threw on the clothes he had given you. The undergarments you had been wearing were ruined, so you decided to forego them and tossed the garments in the trash can.

Lucifer wasn’t in the bedroom when you walked back in. The door was, however, wide open, so you wandered out into the hall and found him in the kitchen, standing over the stove. The white feathery masses were almost completely unfurled, and as you drew closer a stray feather reached out to ghost over the side of your jaw. Lucifer stiffened, as did you, and then the wings were gone, tightly folded to his back.

“I hope you like omelettes.” He commented lightly, hiding all tension evident in his wings with the sound of his voice and the slight turn of his lips. You smiled, noting the oddity of the fact that the devil himself was significantly nicer than the demons who had sacrificed you to him.

“I do, thank you.” He handed you the plate and you took it, finding a seat at the island counter while he washed the pan. “So, do you eat?” You asked, pointing out the fact that he hadn’t made one for himself.

He took the seat next to you and turned his body fully in your direction, wings still tightly folded behind him. Blue eyes a light with interest, he looked at you like you were the most fascinating thing he had seen in a long time.

“It’s not necessary for me to eat, no. Food also doesn’t taste like anything when I eat it, it’s just.. bland. Like molecules. But,” He sighed. “When you’re stuck in one place for millennia, you get bored. One of the many things I’ve learned is how to cook.”

You nodded. “Well, it’s delicious.”

“I don’t know your name.” He said, looking at you intentionally. 

Flushing, you nodded. “Y/n. It’s y/n y/l/n.”

He said it once, testing it. You found that you liked the way it sounded on his tongue.


	3. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you go. :) Thanks for all the positive feedback! ***There’s a potential trigger in this chapter for drug usage and child abuse/neglect. It’s not super graphic, but just so you know. There’ll be asterisks where that part starts and ends if you want to skip it. Just know that y/n had an absolutely horrible childhood and suffers from some mild PTSD***

Lucifer shifted in his seat, and you could tell that he was contemplating asking you something. You watched him squirm as you ate your omelet, and finally he seemed to acquire the nerve.

“So what happened leading up to last night, y/n?”

You shrugged, not wanting to talk about the demons. They weren’t exactly the highlight of your day. “The usual. A bunch of demons broke into the shelter where I was sleeping, threw me in the trunk, and sacrificed me to Lucifer. Doesn’t this happen to you all the time?”

He shook his head. “No. You’re the first one to have ever survived the fall into the Cage.”

Oddly enough, you felt sort of special. 

The blue eyed archangel deeply sighed. “There really isn’t much to do around here, and you’re free to go wherever you want. All I ask is that you don't leave the house.”

You paused. You didn’t like being a prisoner. “Why can’t I leave the house?”

He nailed you with a look that made you want to rescind your question, but your pride prevented you from doing so. The glare still made you squirm. All good natured humor had instantly fallen from his face, and the look in his light blue eyes had hardened.

“Just don’t. What’s out there is far worse than the demons from last night. Promise me that you won’t open that door, y/n.”

The front door, only feet away, suddenly seemed far more ominous than before.

Shakily, you nodded. “O-Okay, I promise.”

The next few days passed with a blur. For the first time since you could ever remember, you weren’t being beaten regularly or forced to do anything you didn’t want to. Lucifer was a surprisingly good host, and quickly made you feel safe in his presence. He had promptly shown you the library after doing the dishes-him washing and you drying- and you had found that you had a certain passion for reading that you had never been able to explore before. On most days, the two of you sat in the library and read in silence, but some days you were by yourself and he disappeared for hours on end. 

It took you several days to realize that he really didn’t need to eat, or sleep for that matter, but despite that he always cooked for you and sat across from you, making light conversation while you ate. Conversation between the two of you was friendly, and he had this vibe that made you want to tell him everything about you. This, however, you resisted. There were things you had done in the past that you didn’t want anyone to know about, ever. Even if that person was Lucifer himself, the inventor of sin. Luckily for you, he didn’t press on the information.

You turned the page of the novel you were currently reading, To Kill A Mockingbird, a supposed classic you had never read before, but were doing so at Lucifers insistence. Scout was an interesting main character, and you were liking the book so far. Lucifer sat across from you, delved in his own reading. His wings were folded tightly behind him, which had become the norm as of late. Glancing at the clock, you found it was nearly midnight.

Standing, you set the book down on the coffee table to resume tomorrow.

“You going to bed?” He asked, glancing up at you from his book.

Nodding sleepily, you yawned. “Mmhhmm. Goodnight, Luci.”

He gave you a soft smile. “Goodnight, y/n.”

***  
The dream was worse than usual. It started off the same as it always did. Feet encased in worn converse sneakers, you trudged up the steps of the decrepit apartment building. From the outside, the entire structure leaned a bit to the left. Inside, the bloodstained wallpaper was peeling and the air stank of cat pee. The light white powder in a small ziplock baggie in your coat pocket felt like a lead weight. You had seen what it did to people, the effect it had on them. You hated being your sorry-excuse-of-a-fathers free delivery service. 

The black eye still stung, and the bruises around your arms and torso still made you want to double over when you walked. It wasn’t as bad as a few days ago, when it was hard to breathe and you had to blast music in your ears so you wouldn’t fall asleep. All the pain served as a reminder of what happened when you didn’t deliver. When you fought back. 

It was a little boy who opened the door. He looked at you with more than average disdain. His brows furrowed and his fists shook in wholehearted hatred. The sadness in your eyes, the pity, made him all the more furious. He knew why you were there. You hesitated stepping in and looked at the apartment number on the door. The granola bar you had a few hours ago churned in your stomach when you saw that you did, in fact, have the right place.

Shit, no. He did this on purpose, your father, you knew it. He sent you to this address as a test, to see if you had finally been broken.

The little kid looked to be about ten, only a few years younger than you. 

“I-Is your mom home?” You stuttered a bit at first, wanting to be anywhere but in that entryway.

“She doesn’t want what you have! Go away and leave us alone.” He hissed, looking damn near close to baring his teeth and slamming the door in your face.

His mother poked her head around the corner, greasy hair, maybe blonde at one point, falling flat against her head in strips. Her eyes were sunken in and glassy looking. From head to toe, she shook. Which made her thin body appear even frailer, like she would keel over and die at any minute. With yellowed teeth, she grinned at you. It was a hungry grin.

“Give it here. I have your money.” She rasped, and you reached to take the baggie out of your pocket when a baby started crying. The little boy glared at you again before walking into a different room. You could hear him murmuring to the child and it made you freeze. The woman was walking closer to you, eyes fixated on your coat pocket like a wild, starving animal who had found it’s next meal. Needing to distract her, you threw her the packet and she pounced on it, making a line on the counter top and snorting it on one go.

You half walked, half ran into the next room where the little kid was cradling a baby girl in his arms. God, your father was going to kill you. Plucking the white letter envelope out of your pants, you handed it to him. 

“Take it.” You commanded, and he maneuvered the baby into one hand and did as you said. He looked inside, at the contents, and just stared at you. 

“It’s all I have. When she’s passed out, sell the rest of it. Use the money to go somewhere else, start a new life.”

“Come with us,” He pressed, the hostility from before evaporating, just like your life span.

Your chapped lips curved into a thin, fake smile. “I’m more trouble than I’m worth, trust me.”

The dream changed, fading into something else. A gun was pressed to your head. “You conniving little bitch,” Your father snarled. “You gave all of it away, didn’t you? Couldn’t even get one delivery job right..” He spat at the ground. “Worthless.”

***

Someone was shaking you.

“Y/n?” 

“Y/n!” You struggled against the thrashing and began to kick and scream and fight back against whoever was holding you, eyes firmly shut tight, still under the hold of the nightmare.

“Y/n! Wake up!” Without any warning, you shot up on the mattress and scrambled backwards until you could feel the cold wood against your back. Air entered your lungs in short gasps. 

Lucifer crawled back to give you some space, regarding you with unmasked concern. Knowing now that you were awake, he waveringly extended a hand and touched your shoulder. 

“Y/n.. Are you alright? Did you just have a nightmare?” 

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and nodded. He extended his arms and drew you in close. You wrapped your hands around your torso and played with the soft feathers of his wings, right where they sprung out of his back. They seemed to sing when you played with them, illuminating at your touch and humming the most glorious, satisfied tune.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you how beautiful your wings are,” You muttered into his shoulder, and his breath faltered.

“You..You mean you can see them?”

You nodded. “They’re pretty damn hard to miss.”


End file.
